


Peccávi nimis cogitatióne, verbo et ópere

by thewightknight



Series: Kylux prompts and ficlets [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, oh my poor heart, writing feels because of someone else's fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6843406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/pseuds/thewightknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word, and deed.</i>
</p><p>An epilogue, of sorts, to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/linguamortua/pseuds/linguamortua">linguamortua</a>'s <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6580279">Adoro te devote</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peccávi nimis cogitatióne, verbo et ópere

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a comment after reading the last chapter originally, thinking of how Hux might have been contacted in the course of the search for Kylo's next of kin, because of the newspaper clippings in his Bible.

They hadn’t buried anyone in the small cemetery attached to the cathedral in over seventy-five years, he’d been told, but what was the point of having money if you couldn’t throw insane amounts of it at people to get your way?

Hux vaguely remembered Father Solo. The service was short, which Hux appreciated. He didn’t listen to a single word. There were only a handful of people who attended, and he looked to be the only one under sixty.

He ducked away before anyone could talk to him. It had only been four years, but St. Luke’s seemed so much smaller now. The paths were overgrown and the maintenance sheds had fallen even further into disrepair. They’d have been torn down soon, even without Hux’s stipulation. Standing next to the remains of the lean-to, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He blew out a puff of smoke, smirking. They’d be building a garden back here with some of his money, and erecting a statue in this very spot, according to his specific directions. Something horribly overblown and super religious, of course, because the blasphemy appealed to him, commemorating their “sin” in such a sacrilegious fashion.

He could see the dormitory house from here, and the window under the slanted roof on the third floor. Four cigarettes later, when the light began to fade, he made his way back to the cemetery. The headstone he’d ordered wasn’t ready yet so the grave was marked with just a wreath on a stand above the newly turned dirt. Reaching into his jacket he pulled out a plastic bag, upended it and let the newspaper clippings fall to the ground. They were worn, almost unreadable, and smelled musty, as did the bible they’d been kept in. Sorting through them, he laid them out in order in front of him, then gathered them up with a sweep of his hand. They were slow to catch fire but he was persistent, and bit by bit the flames licked up the edges. When just the corners remained he let them fall, and a gust of wind took them away, red embers that blended into the sunset.

“Ashes to ashes and all that rot.” His voice sounded strange to his ears, flat and emotionless. Rising, he dusted off his pants and turned to go, but hesitated. Pulling out his pack of cigarettes again, he set it down beneath the wreath.

“My body is my temple. Alright then. Goodbye, Father Ren.”

He walked away without looking back.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come say hi over on [tumblr](http://thewightknight.tumblr.com/).


End file.
